Down the Only Road He'll Ever Know
by Morganeth Taren'drel
Summary: Dean struggles with the results of his first hunt, blaming the failure on himself.


**AN**: Although this was unintentional, you could look at this story as a prequel to 'What I did Last Weekend' All I'm really trying to do right now is write a bunch of pre-series oneshots in between the other fics I have on the go. I hope you enjoy this story.

**Beta**: Shuffles, thanks so much for the edit and suggestions you're Shiny! –no matter what you say!-

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the characters from Supernatural

**Down the Only Road He'll Ever Know**

As the Impala rolled to a stop outside of the old cemetery Dean's bright hazel eyes searched the darkness, adrenalin already pumping through his system. He glanced back over his shoulder to the back seat, making sure that Sammy was okay where he lay under a worn sleeping bag, head comfortably pillowed. He was still too young to help with every aspect of the hunts, but neither Dean nor his dad was willing to leave Sammy alone at the motel while they took care of the job.

This was one of Dean's first hunts. Dad had done all the research and the other night Dean had watched his father dig up a grave before salting and burning the remains inside. His job had been to keep lookout, but the next night there had been another attack, which meant they'd missed something, and somehow Dean felt responsible for the mistake. Dad had never accused him of it, but what else could it be? This was his first time helping, it had to be because of him.

"You remember what to look for?" John asked, gruff voice shaking Dean back to reality, and he snapped around so he was looking at his dad.

They were looking for something of the dead woman, a piece of her had escaped the burning and their best bet was it was somewhere in the house. He nodded, not wanting to make his dad wait too long for an answer. It would have made their lives so much easier if the people living in the house knew what it was they needed. But after ownership had changed hand so many times, the item could be anywhere.

John took one look at Sammy before turning back to Dean, "Let's go, Ace."

Dean nodded and got out of the Impala and making sure to lock the door securely behind him, before following his dad to the trunk. John removed his duffel bag, before lifting the secret compartment. He always felt amazed to look over the array of weapons his dad had collected, how many kids got to handle these?

His dad handed Dean a small sawed off shotgun. It was among the first weapons John had taught him how to use in the last couple of years. Opening the chamber Dean accepted two rock salt rounds and slipped them in, before snapping it back closed. Dean took a couple of extra rounds from his dad and slipped them into his pocket as he made their way to the back door.

Although he was helping out on hunts, Dean's only real job was to watch his father's back. Just as before they carefully swept each room, Dean's eyes darted to each shadow waiting to see the apparition. Making their way upstairs, Dean stopped behind his dad on the landing. "Check this room," John said pointing towards the first bedroom to their left.

Dean blinked in surprise, hesitating for a moment, before saying "Yes sir."

Sweeping his flashlight across the room Dean stepped inside, immediately going towards the dresser and the jewelry box sitting on top. They were looking for something that belonged to the dead woman, more than likely hair, which was often made into jewelry. But there wasn't anything that matched that description.

With a sigh Dean scanned the room again, hazel eyes landing on the closet and he walked over, pulling the stiff door opened. He could just barely reach the cord for the light, but once the closet was illuminated Dean began pushing some objects around, opening boxes and looking for any good hiding places. Dean was so focused on his work that he didn't notice the temperature begin to drop.

Reaching up, Dean pushed aside the hanging clothes, jumping in surprise as the woman's apparition glared darkly at him from the other side. Dean tried to pull his gun up to fire, but she raised her hand faster and before Dean could fully comprehend he was thrown across the room. Dean hit the wall before his brain had time to process the attack, his shoulder cracking off the dresser, and he felt the joint pop loose. He heard himself cry out in pain, but bit down on the sound, not wanting to cause any more problems with this hunt.

"Dean!" he heard his dad shout from across the house.

With a shaking hand Dean raised the shotgun determined not to be a liability to his dad, but he was seeing double, unable to focus his vision. A gun blast from the bedroom door sent the spirit disintegrating into grayish mist as John stepped into the room.

"Are you alright?" his dad asked, tone hard.

Dean fought against the humiliation that washed over him, dropping his head in the hopes his dad wouldn't see as he pointed at the closet. The ghost's appearance confirmed the presence of what they were looking for, at least that's what Dean thought. But he told himself he was probably wrong, he hadn't got anything else right on this hunt why should that change now.

John was digging quickly through the contents of the closet, Dean could see from the edge of his vision boxes being tossed deeper into the room. "How're you doing Ace?" John asked as he continued his search.

He hesitated to answer, not wanting his dad to hear the shame and defeat in his voice, he'd been taught to be tougher than this but the pain from both his head and shoulder was causing his eyes to tear up.

After a moment John's search came to a halt and Dean could smell burning hair, just before John came to his side. "Dean?" there was still that usual gruffness to his dad's voice, and it sounded all the harsher to Dean in that moment, "Look at me."

He couldn't ignore a direct order, as he forced himself to look up at John waiting to see his expression of utter disgust. But what he found wasn't at all what he'd expected; there was concern in those hazel eyes as John reached out his hands taking hold of either side of Dean's head.

"I screwed up," Dean admitted bitterly.

"How do you figure?" John asked in return, his fingers finding a particularly tender spot of the back of Dean's head which caused him to gasp in pain.

Dean looked up at his father, swallowing back his pain, and bitterly fighting against the tears that wanted to slip out. "It was supposed to be an easy hunt!" he spat, angry at himself, "I messed it up."

The corner of John's lips turned up in a slight smile, "You did fine Ace, even a simple hunt can get complicated."

He wanted to believe that. There was no mistaking the sincerity in his dad's voice, but Dean still couldn't let go the disappointment he felt in himself. "And worse, if you have to keep running to save me," he muttered looking down at his hands.

"C'mon," John said taking Dean's right arm, "Sammy's waiting for us." There was no attempt at denying Dean's accusation, which only confirmed its truth in Dean's eyes.

As his arm was lifted, white hot pain shot through Dean's shoulder and he instinctively jerked away cradling his arm against his chest. Despite his best efforts tears began to leek from his eyes, only adding to his utter humiliation.

"It's alright," John's voice soothed, as he took hold of Dean's arm again, "You've dislocated your shoulder."

"I'm sorry," he said brokenly, eyes held tightly shut.

"Not your fault," was the immediate response as John shifted closer. "I'm going to fix you Ace," he assured, "But it's going to hurt."

Dean clenched his teeth in anticipation, barely nodding when asked if he was ready. Without a warning count John wrenched Dean's shoulder. He heard himself scream in pain, and at the same time was oddly aware of the feel of muscle and tendon scraping across bone. Black spots swam in front of his eyes as all sound vanished.

When clear awareness returned to him Dean realized he was no longer leaning against the wall, but instead was sitting in his dad's lap. John's arm was carefully cradling Dean's right. "Keep breathing Dean," John repeated gently into his ear.

Drawing in shallow breaths Dean waited for the ache in his shoulder to decrease before he tired to push away from his dad, "Easy there," John warned but didn't try to stop him. John shifted up onto one knee, and quickly removed his belt. "This'll do for now," he said wrapping the leather band around Dean's neck and slipped his arm into the circle as he secured the buckle.

John's hand took a firm hold on the back of Dean's neck, forcing him to meet his dad's eyes. "You didn't screw up Dean," he said firmly.

Dean closed his eyes, he didn't believe it, of course his dad would tell him that.

"Are you listening to me Dean?" John asked a note of command entering his voice, and Dean mutely nodded his head. "It can't be perfect on your first time, do you understand? You're still learning, mistakes will happen," John impressed firmly, Dean nodded trying to believe. "This is how you learn, it's not pretty, but it'll get better."

The encouragement in John's voice caught Dean's attention, and he finally looked up to meet his dad's eyes. What he found was a reassuring smile as John gently squeezed the back of his neck. "C'mon Dean," John said helping Dean to his feet, right hand helping to steady Dean's arm. "Just think of the story you can tell Sammy when he wakes up," his dad encouraged, which brought a smile to Dean's lips.

Thanks for Reading!

Morganeth Taren'drel


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